I’ve never been a fanatic for anyone. I’ve never been a fan; or at least, not a habitually screaming one. I used to listen to Marvin Gaye’s recording of the Star Spangled Banner and other live cuts he’d do and hear these women screaming their heads off and think… what the hell was wrong with them??? They’re like having a seizure or something. I’d think that women (and men) who would cry and faint at the sight of their idol were brain damaged or just stupid. Then I became a fan. Maxwell (the singer) had taken my heart. I had met him just a few days before and he shook my hand, with both of his. He was so charismatic and sweet. I was in “love”. My spech had gotten us tickets to see him live in concert at Jones Beach. On a unseasonably cold summer night, my baby and I sat through his concert performance a few sections back from the front. And at one song he sung… some lilt in his voice… some inflection… some kind of … tone that struck a nerve in me… sent me shooting up from my chair… and I screamed out loud. I was completely beside myself. Because I’d never done anything of the sort for anyone… willing. But it was completely involuntary. I screamed for this man because his art moved me so. Because the words he used and the music he composed and chose touched me in my soul in a place that no other artist had reached. To this day I contemplate that involuntary reaction… and wonder if that’s what groupies feel when their bodies react to their idols… their icons.
Today, I had a misunderstanding with my baby. Where we had promised to make each other aware of each other’s feelings, and be clear in our communication to each other, somehow it had turned into a jewish “mine is worse” battle. “oh you’re mad about x y z? well… here’s ABC… handle that!!” A miscommunication made it so that i thought we were going out tonight… and so I got all gussified and prettied up for him. But he’d never said he WANTED to go. Nor had he agreed to go. But I assumed… because I asked… because it was his cousin… that he’d said yes. But he hadn’t. And because of a misunderstanding of feelings a few days before that…the conversation of the primary misunderstanding compounded the 2nd. So by the first few hours of work, I had resigned that I was going to be attending the party alone and that maybe I was with someone who plum didn’t care.
As I sat there in the party, (downing a drink I wasn’t supposed to have, because my baby and I promised to follow lenten tradition and give up something and he asked me to give up alcohol… but considering the circumstances, I allowed myself one) I shmoozed and made nice with my hosts and smiled liberally and tried to seem gracious. All I could think of was my baby. And as much as I was talking about him and fawning over his ring on my finger… I wished he was there. But I had to understand he wasn’t going to be there.
Till I looked up and there he was… walking into the lounge area, hugging his cousin with fervor. I jumped out of my seat and screamed!!! “That’s my BABY!!” Like he was a rock star. It was completely involuntary… but the joy I felt at the fact that he was even IN the house…. overwhelmed me with joy. There he was. The one I’d talked about all night. My fiance. The Love of my life. And he’d come to save my heart for the day. From a miserable day. He sifted my heart out of the wreckage and put it back in its precious box. And I was whole again. I had to control the involuntary urge to cry out of joy. But I was able to keep that in check as I clung to his arm and quietly thanked him for saving me.